by Anna James
And what she read came to be all around them, until the bed was like a boat in a river of flowers. They were surrounded by plants of all kinds and colours, both those described in the book and many more besides them. Roses and sunflowers and tulips and flowers they didn’t even know the names of stood tall around them, and vines wove themselves up the walls, and around the delicate trees that were lining the room, their graceful branches reaching up in arches for the vines to follow.
‘Am I doing that?’ Tilly asked, reaching out and touching a rose flowering by her head.
‘I think you must be,’ Bea said, looking at her daughter in amazement. ‘I always knew you were magical.’
‘Is this a sort of bookwandering?’ Tilly asked.
‘I suppose so, but how extraordinary …’ Bea said in amazement. ‘We’re obviously not inside the book. You’ve brought it out to us.’
‘Is it … Is it because I’m not normal?’ Tilly said warily. ‘Because I’m half fictional? When I was on the train to Paris,’ she said, remembering, ‘there was a moment when I was reading Grandma’s book of fairy tales, and I thought I saw a forest coming inside the train, but no one else could see it. Do you think that was something magical, like this?’
‘Firstly, normal is overrated,’ Bea said. ‘This is clearly something rather special. And I imagine that whatever happened on the train is the same sort of thing. And yes, it must be to do with you having one foot in each world.’ Bea’s eyes were full of light and joy and wonder as she stared at the room, full to bursting with sweet-smelling plants. ‘What a gift,’ Bea said, kissing the top of Tilly’s head. ‘Maybe there’s a little beauty left in bookwandering, after all.’
he next morning, Tilly woke up hot and gasping for air. Her dreams had been full of twisting vines, and sickly-sweet blooms, and people hiding behind trees, and she was relieved to find herself in her own bed in her own home. Bea was already gone from the camp bed on the floor, where she was sleeping due to the full house, and Tilly glanced at the clock on her bedside table and realised that it was already past 10 a.m. on Christmas Eve. Even stranger than waking up late on Christmas Eve was the fact that next to her clock lay a large brass key that she had never seen before. She picked it up, and as she turned it over, her thumb felt something soft in its intricate crevices. There was a bit of very fresh mud stuck there.
‘I don’t think you’re supposed to still be here,’ she said, and put it with the yarn, the bag, and the pamphlet so she could ask her mother about it later on.
Tilly made her way downstairs to find Amelia Whisper sitting at the kitchen table with her grandparents. Everyone had rather unfestive thunderous looks on their faces, and in the middle of the table was a small pile of leaflets, one of which Grandad was waving around angrily.
‘How on earth is he getting away with this?’ he was saying. ‘Oh, hello, Tilly. Good morning.’ He put the leaflet back and smoothed his jumper down.
‘What’s that?’ she asked. The Underlibrary’s logo and motto was printed in the top corner of the leaflet, and below it was a list of seminars. They included ‘Whose Magic is it Anyway?’, ‘Books are a Resource not a Retreat’ and ‘Protecting Children by Protecting Books’.
‘Melville is on a propaganda mission,’ Grandad said angrily. ‘Dressing up his prejudice and his schemes in respectability. Having a seminar on something doesn’t make it right.’
‘Hello, Tilly,’ Amelia said, shooting a glare at Grandad and standing up to give her a hug. ‘How was Paris?’
‘It was … interesting,’ Tilly said unsteadily.
‘Elsie and Archie told me you had quite the adventure in some fairy tales?’
Tilly nodded. Of course they had shared it with her. They told Amelia more than they told her these days.
‘Have you got any further working out what’s going on?’ Tilly said a little pointedly.
‘It’s complicated,’ Amelia said, either not noticing or not minding Tilly’s tone. ‘It would seem as though someone is taking advantage of the instability in fairy tales to draw out book magic, and of course, our minds are naturally going towards Melville, considering his sudden arrival and rather wanton use of processes that require book magic. But we don’t have any physical proof of that to convince the librarians, so Seb is keeping an eye on him as much as possible. Even with this nonsense –’ she gestured at the leaflets – ‘he’s not doing anything technically wrong, or anything we can use to demonstrate he’s the one behind the leaking book magic.’
‘Is he travelling into fairy tales, do you think?’
‘Well, we don’t know,’ Amelia said.
‘Can’t we stamp him?’ Tilly asked.
‘Well, you’re not allowed to stamp someone without their knowledge,’ Amelia said.
‘But Chalk did it to me!’ Tilly said angrily.
‘But we can’t sink to his level,’ Amelia said.
‘Okay, well, has he found Chalk yet? Tilly asked, changing tack. ‘He said he would. Is anyone checking what he’s doing to find him? Is anyone actually doing anything?!’
‘It’s only been a few days, Tilly. Calm down,’ Grandad said. ‘And remember, your grandma and I can’t bookwander anywhere without Melville knowing, and Amelia is under intense scrutiny at the Underlibrary. We have nothing to go on with Chalk. It’s a wild goose chase, and a waste of our efforts if Melville is already on it. Let’s focus on the bigger picture.’
‘Melville says he’s personally looking into the Chalk situation,’ Amelia said. ‘And I believe him. It’s embarrassing for him to have a Source Character just lost somewhere. He won the vote on his promise to retrieve Chalk so he’ll be prioritising it for sure, to keep everyone on side.’
‘Let’s all remember that it’s Christmas,’ Grandma said. ‘We gain absolutely nothing by ruining our holidays worrying about things outside our control. The Underlibrary is closed for a few days now, and we have Mary with us, so let’s just all try and relax and celebrate.’
‘You’re right, Elsie,’ Grandad said. ‘Now, Amelia, what are your plans for Christmas?’
‘Actually, I’m staying in London for Christmas. It’s just me this year,’ Amelia said.
‘Well, we’ll lay a place for you here tomorrow!’ Grandad said excitedly. ‘If you’d like?’
Amelia only hesitated for a moment.
‘That would be absolutely lovely, if you’re sure it’s no trouble?’ she said.
‘Not at all,’ Grandad assured her. ‘The more the merrier! We have a turkey that would feed a small country so you’d be doing us a favour.’
Tilly couldn’t take it any more. How were they all just carrying on as if nothing was happening? Talking as though whether there was enough turkey to go round was the biggest problem they were facing. As if leaking book magic and Chalk and Underwood getting up to goodness-knows-what were minor trivialities.
‘So that’s it?’ she interrupted, her voice louder than she’d expected it to be. ‘We’re just going to wait and see? Great plan.’ And she turned on her heel and left the room, leaving her family in quiet shock.
Christmas Eve was always busy and exciting at Pages & Co. The shop was open until the afternoon for people in search of last-minute Christmas presents, and it was a flurry of wrapping and finding and fetching. Tilly usually loved getting involved but even though she threw herself into helping at the shop, she couldn’t wholly take her mind off how frustrated she was with all the adults around her. But there was a magic in helping people find the perfect book for someone they loved, and the Christmas spirit finally got into her bones.
Tilly made her way to the back of the ground floor to find Jack, who ran the bookshop café. Predictably it was as busy as the rest of Pages & Co. and full of shoppers sitting down in relief, sipping a coffee or mulled wine, and nibbling at one of Jack’s festive treats. Tilly spotted peppermint brownies sprinkled with crushed-up candy canes, sugar biscuits topped with marshmallows made to look like melting snowmen, and plenty of traditional mi
nce pies.
‘Can’t stop! Help yourself … within reason!’ Jack called when he spotted her. Tilly grabbed a brownie, and headed up to the children’s floor. There she helped an overwhelmed grandmother pick out a selection of books for her various grandchildren, pointed a harried-looking dad towards the copies of The Gruffalo, and fielded an unusual request for a book about Rasputin. When the clock struck four the last shoppers were ushered out with their brown paper bags and totes printed with the Pages & Co. logo. The shop was tidied, the sign turned to ‘Closed’, the Christmas staff given hugs and mince pies, and there was a chorus of ‘Merry Christmas’, then the Pages family, together with Mary and Oskar, tumbled, exhausted, back into the kitchen to start preparing dinner together.
‘Tilly would you mind just going and double checking that the main door is locked?’ Grandad said as he chopped up a butternut squash. Tilly, slightly grudgingly, hopped off her chair and headed into the dim bookshop – where she walked smack into an out-of-breath Gretchen.
hat are you doing here?’ Tilly said in surprise, as Gretchen caught her breath.
‘Tilly, hello!’ Gretchen said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to turn up on their doorstep on Christmas Eve. ‘The door was open so I just came in.’
‘Do Grandma and Grandad know you’re coming?’ Tilly said.
‘Not exactly,’ Gretchen admitted. ‘Are they through there? Could you let them know?’
Tilly wasn’t sure what else to do but turn round and go back into the kitchen. She walked through and stood looking at Grandma, Grandad, Bea and Mary, who were chatting away as they cooked.
‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’ Grandma said, noticing her standing there.
‘Yes,’ Tilly said. ‘But … Well, Gretchen is here.’
‘Gretchen?’ Grandad said as his face went a little paler underneath his whiskers. Grandma stood up so quickly her chair fell backwards loudly, and Tilly and Oskar followed her out into the bookshop to see the two women staring at each other as though they were looking at ghosts. Gretchen took a half-step towards Grandma, who held her hand out as if to shake hands and then changed her mind and withdrew it just as Gretchen reached hers out.
‘Just hug already,’ Oskar said. And so they did.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Grandma asked, because sometimes in these situations, the best and indeed only thing to do is offer a cup of tea.
‘A coffee would be lovely,’ Gretchen said. ‘It’s been a bit of an arduous journey.’
‘Well, it is Christmas Eve,’ Grandma said. ‘Which is a funny time to visit anyone, let alone your estranged best friend who you haven’t seen in, what, thirty years? More?’
‘Well, it’s important,’ Gretchen said. ‘Meeting Tilly made me realise that.’
‘You’re very welcome here,’ Grandma said. ‘Sincerely, Gretchen, even after all these years, it is good to see you.’ And Tilly could see Gretchen’s shoulders relax a little at Grandma’s words. ‘Come in and get comfortable and we can talk.’
‘Thank you,’ Gretchen said. ‘I know it’s a lot to find an extra bed on Christmas Eve.’
‘An extra bed?’ Grandma repeated.
‘Well, it’s an awkward time of year to find somewhere to stay,’ Gretchen said. ‘And you know what it’s like running a bookshop in this day and age. Funds are tight and all. So I had hoped there might be a spare sofa or corner I could tuck myself into.’
‘Right, of course,’ Grandma said, masking her surprise. ‘I’m sure we can sort something out.’
After an awkward dinner of small talk, and Mary being told that Gretchen was an old work friend of Grandma’s, which was true after all, Bea went upstairs with Mary and Oskar to help sort out the sleeping arrangements.
‘Will you go and help, Tilly?’ Grandma asked.
‘I want to stay and talk,’ she said.
‘We just need a minute to ourselves first,’ Grandad said, but Gretchen immediately raised an eyebrow.
‘I don’t see why Tilly can’t stay,’ she said. ‘After all, she’s involved, isn’t she? And what her and Oskar saw in the fairy tales is useful information.’
‘See, Gretchen thinks I can be helpful,’ Tilly said.
‘It’s not that we don’t think you’re helpful, sweetheart,’ Grandad said. ‘We just need a bit of time to catch up.’
‘I haven’t got anything I can’t say in front of Tilly,’ Gretchen pushed, earning a hard stare from Grandma.
‘Tilly, go and help with the beds,’ Grandma said firmly. ‘Now, please.’
Tilly shoved back her chair and stomped out of the kitchen, but she couldn’t resist lingering behind the door, listening to what was going on inside.
‘We can start by asking why you allowed Tilly and Oskar to bookwander inside fairy tales in the first place,’ Grandad said, as soon as he thought Tilly was gone.
‘Because they are young bookwanderers with their own hearts and minds, and clearly with their wits about them,’ Gretchen said. ‘It isn’t for me to tell them where they can or can’t go.’
‘But fairy tales, Gretchen,’ Grandma said.
‘Elsie, we do not share the same opinion on fairy tales. Yes, they’re wilder than some stories, but if you don’t mess with them, then they won’t mess with you.’
‘That’s naive, and you know it,’ Grandad said.
‘And yet here they both are, safe and sound,’ Gretchen said. ‘And the fact remains that they were able to provide us with valuable insight as to the structural discord inside the fairy tales. Which is why I’m here. I’m not merely after a slice of Christmas pudding, I assure you. I want to help you work out what is going on. You may not like to admit it, but, Elsie, between us there’s not many people who know more about fairy tales.’
‘But why the sudden change in allegiance?’ Grandma asked. ‘We’ve been on opposite sides of this debate for decades.’
‘Ah, you make it sound so dramatic,’ Gretchen said. ‘It’s not like there’s a war happening, or if there is, then it is us versus whatever is going on at your precious Underlibrary.’
‘There’s no need to be snide,’ Grandad said, clearly finding it harder to forgive and forget than Grandma did.
‘Archie, if anyone is swapping sides, it’s you,’ Gretchen said. ‘I’ve always said the Underlibraries have too much power, and now you’re on the outside as well.’
‘Regardless,’ Grandad said, realising she had a point and not wanting to dwell on that for too long, ‘I’m still not sure our motives or goals are aligned enough. Elsie and I don’t want to topple the Underlibrary – we just think that Melville Underwood is not the best person to be running it.’
‘To be honest, I couldn’t care less about what happens to the Underlibrary,’ Gretchen said. ‘As long as they don’t bother me, I won’t bother them. I’ve lived outside their rules and regulations for years now, and I’m very content to carry on like that. My concern is making sure that whatever is happening in fairy tales is stopped.’
‘Well, that we can agree on,’ Grandma said. ‘But why now, Gretchen? What couldn’t have waited until after Christmas?’
‘I have reason to believe that something worse is about to happen,’ Gretchen said. ‘Something I think you might be able to shed more light on.’
‘This better be good,’ Grandad said.
‘I went bookwandering in a few of my collections of fairy tales yesterday, after what Tilly told us,’ Gretchen explained. ‘And things are even more extreme than last time I visited. I wandered into several books and witnessed a number of characters in the wrong stories.
There were twelve disgruntled princesses in dancing shoes who had teamed up and gone rogue – they were hunting down princes and imprisoning them. There were two wicked stepmothers fighting over who was the most beautiful in the land. But there were also wastelands of stories with no characters left, not to mention all the gaps and holes everywhere I already knew about. And worst of all, there was book magic leaking ou
t everywhere.
So, I started asking around to see if any of the characters had an idea of what was going on. Many of them said they had seen a tall stranger with a cane, wandering around and watching them, or asking unusual questions. And that reminded me of what Tilly told me about the shenanigans at the Underlibrary, and the man who had gone missing …’
‘Tilly told you about Enoch Chalk?’
‘Yes, that was his name!’ Gretchen said.
‘And you came all the way to London to tell us that?’ Grandad said. ‘You couldn’t have sent us an email? Picked up the phone?’
‘I thought I might be able to help,’ Gretchen said. ‘You know, like the old days. What do you say, Elsie?’
Tilly left them discussing Chalk, and Underwood, and the messy tangle of things going wrong, and headed upstairs, where she was presented with an armful of blankets and pillows by Bea.
‘How do you feel about a bookshop sleepover with Oskar?’ she said. ‘We’re a bit cramped up here.’
The new sleeping arrangements left Mary and Bea sharing a room while Gretchen was going to take Tilly’s. It used to be a treat for Tilly to be allowed to sleep in the bookshop, and she’d choose somewhere snug and make a duvet nest to hide away in, reading long into the night with her torch. But it felt a bit different doing it because she’d had to give her bed up on Christmas Eve.
‘Come on, I’ll help,’ Bea said, and led the way down the stairs.
‘Do you like Gretchen?’ Tilly asked suddenly, as they headed to the children’s section.
‘I’m not sure I’ve said more than ten words to her since she arrived,’ Bea said. ‘So I haven’t had much of a chance to form an impression yet.’